Fine Line
by Ohsnapitzmik
Summary: The fine line separating the good from bad, the pure from the tainted. The line he learned never to cross. Short drabble.


**I don't own ROTG, just this story :)**

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Sometimes he wonders is the world really is black and white. Good and evil, separated by an invisible line. A line no one dares to cross alone, never to go down alone. It was just his luck that he walked on that line. Neutral, because that's all he could be.

Who was he to interfere?

Time to time he steps a little too far over one side. The side telling him to be angry at the ones who have betrayed him. The side that wants him to break down and give up, to let go. That's when he has to be pulled back. But, who's there to pull him back up?

Exactly.

He relies on no one to keep him in check. He just has to ride the waves and hope not to crash, because that's all he can do.

Is that what the Moon expected of him, to trust his words and live in this black and white world; a world where he has to fend for himself? Well, fine. He's lasted a decade, who's to say that he won't last a century?

He has given up yelling, pleading, with the Moon. He'd be damned if he answered. All he was given was a name, a name he supposed was his. And not a very original name at that, but what does he know about original?

The glowing rock in the sky, his creator and destroyer. His betrayer.

And he steps back onto the line.

At least Jack can still look up at the stars, the only things he hopes won't judge him. But If the Moon can why not the Stars? Well, because their different now. They move, they dull, and they die. And he can just watch.

"Come on Wind, take me home." And there's the Wind. His best friend since the start. The one thing that hasn't let him down once. At least, figuratively. Sometimes Jack can't hold back the joyous whoops of joy and smiles when he's flying through the air, always pleasantly chilled.

The way the wind slaps against his face. The biting cold that stings his eyes. The lightness that overtakes his body. It's the terrifying height and the adrenaline that makes the trip worth it.

Most spirit know to man has had a taste of flight. Every spirit has taken their abilities to the max, either for good of evil. But not every spirit is earth bound. Humanity ties his world together and is the only thing keeping him from striking back. But flying-

Flying is breathtaking in the worst possible way. His heart skips, his breath hitches, and his mind draws a blank as he soars above the ground. His first flight had been exciting. The kind of excitement that turns you around, vowing never to take that leap again with a grin on your face. The sky is a empty realm in which he can create his fantasies. Jack's fantasy of flying with birds, escape reality with harsh words and envious creatures looking for a bite.

But there's always the ground, he's learned.

No matter what way you turn you'll always end up on the ground. The anchor. Years and decades of survival fighting has taught him how to hold himself up and fend for himself, even if that meant hitting the ground

He always finds himself flying over the East Coast, specifically Burgess, Pennsylvania. Maybe it was the colder air or familiar landmarks. But it was a second home to Jack, the first being somewhere along the South Pole.

The wind carried him over the States and across the oceans. Only stopping once they reached his cave. It was nothing to brag about and nothing fancy. But it was cozy enough Jack supposed. Besides, he would only be there for the summer months then back to his lake.

Hopefully he'd wake in time to see the children on the start of winter. Their spirit and energy driving him to make snow days and blizzards, snow men and forts.

Jack curled up around his staff and pulled his cape tighter around himself, almost completely buried in the soft snow bank. He yawned. "Wake me before spring, Wind."

And the Wind howled outside, whispering goodnight to it's child.

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_**A/N:** eep, just a short drabble for my muse. Hope this was satisfactory :)_


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